


Even Odds

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Category: The Hangover (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Illegal activity, Language, Nudity, etc. - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if... Doug had managed to get himself off the Caesar Palace's roof, how might the morning-after changed for the Wolfpack?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Odds

**The** — **Hangover:  
 **

Doug moaned pitifully in the bright morning glare of the Vegas sun. Why the fuck hadn't he managed to shut the thick curtains before he passed out? He buried his face into his arms against the mattress. The light control was definitely better now, but it did nothing to the sounds of persistent traffic. Jesus Christ, was he sleeping beside the freeway? His head was pounding like a marching band drum, slow and reverberating.

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!" But clearly his hoarse cry was ignored. "Fuck." He finally pushed himself halfway up on his hands and knees, squinting his eyes into slits as he slowly looked around. Blinking in confusion as he took in his surroundings. "Huh?" he sat back on a _bare_ mattress... and this clearly wasn't what his room looked like last night. "The fuck?"

He flopped back down onto his side, willing his brain to catch up with the situation at hand. He knew that he'd let go last night, but had he really drank that much to warrant feeling like he was a tube of toothpaste being rolled over by a bulldozer, and then being bombarded by dry waves?

He was on a bare mattress, clearly not in his room in the villa where he was positive that he had passed out—but clearly this wasn’t the room? Yeah, he was pretty sure that this wasn't his room when a pigeon passed overhead and nearly shit on him. He had passed out... and shit. It came to him like a slug through the center of his hungover brain dragging a card of rough sandpaper, grinding over the sensitive grey matter.

He had passed out first. A fatal mistake when around Phil and Stu and alcohol. God, how childish were they? He muttered curses at them, the fuckers. The last time this happened, they were at summer camp. One of the cool Camp Counselors, a college student volunteer, had snuck them some of their first alcohol. Doug had passed out first. Phil and Stu had dragged his mattress, with him still on it, out into the jetty. God. He remembered rolling off and into the water, still passed out with his first hangover. He hadn't know what was happening, which way was up or down, why the air stung his eyes and burned down his throat and into his lungs. He nearly drowned before one of the CC's pulled him out—and all the while, Phil and Stu were on the shore, laughing. Assholes!

He sat up, his anger making his head pound more, but kicking it into gear. The dicks weren't even there to see the response to their little prank, they were probably still passed out in the cozy villa, with actual beds and thick shades to block out the sun. Dicks.

He climbed to his feet, still fully dressed, but for his jacket. He went to the door and tried to pull it open, but it didn't budge. He pulled harder, but still nothing. Then he remembered the cinderblock that Stu had used to prop the door open—and there it was, right **next** to the door. He cursed and banged on the door, and yelled for help—but all the favor did him was leave him sweaty, with a sore throat and throbbing palm. He remembered how out of the way they had to go to get to that door and ultimately the roof, and how clearly it was marked against guests' entry. Fuck, Phil! How the hell had they dragged him and the mattress up here, drunk out of their minds and not get caught or wake him up?

"Fuck!" he kicked the door in frustration and paced away, trying to think. He could pound on the door and yell for help all day, but none of the effort would matter unless someone of the staff happened to be in the stairwell. He could wait for the others to wake and remember that they had brought him up here in the first place, but how much better a time could they be having of remembering what the fuck they did last night, than he was? Fuck that, he wasn't going to wait for those assholes.

He'd been out here long enough. He was hungover, thirsty, hungry, he could feel the stiffness of his skin and he knew it wasn't from the sweat and grime. He was close to getting sunburn, and he was not going to look like a boiled lobster on his wedding day tomorrow!

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and had a light bulb moment to check his pockets. God. He found his room key card, and with that (Holy shit!) 80 grand in casino chips?! but no cell phone which he had been sincerely hoping for.

He was not going to wait around for their lazy asses to get into gear. He went to the edge of the roof and peered over. Okay, shit. He was pretty high up so any bizarre idea that he might Spiderman his way down the building was out. He didn't much fancy being a splat on the sidewalk the day before his wedding.

"Hey! Hello? I'm up here! Somebody!" he yelled. But either they couldn't hear him, or they were ignoring the screaming guy. It was Vegas, after all; the City of the Drunk and Hungover.

He backed away in frustration and tried to think. He needed to make them pay attention. But how? It wasn't like he had a fog or bullhorn on him—and then his eyes landed on the large white square. The mattress. The only maneuverable and safest thing on the roof that he could use.

"Okay. Alright." He grabbed it and dragged it over to the side, pulling it onto the ledge of the roof. He peered over the edge again, down into valet. "Please down smooch anybody." He prayed and shoved the mattress over the edge, trying the best to aim it.

Could a mattress kill somebody? He supposed from this height it could. He remembered that one episode of The Simpson’s with the quarters raining from the top of the building—yeah, that was the last thing he wanted. He watched, holding his breath as he watched the white mattress tumble down, down, down. There was a bang, almost like a large balloon popping and a loud tearing sound as the mattress was skewered on one of the statues in front of the Palace.

There were gasps and shouts of surprise and a small crowd started to gather. It wasn't long before security was alerted and Doug certainly didn't waste the opportunity to cup his hands around his mouth and scream at the top of his lungs. Yeah, they saw him now. People pointed up at him instead of the mattress impaled on the statue. Doug leaned on the edge in relief. Less worried about being forgotten and stuck up on a hotel room in Vegas now, but a different worry took him as not twenty-minutes later, the door to the roof was opened and there stood two stern-looking security officers.

He was escorted from the roof and to their office, given a paper cup of water that he drank instantly, and questioned as to why the hell he was up on the roof through restricted access. Through the throb in his brain and his parched throat, he told them all that he was able—almost feeling like a kid stuck in the mall jail—he came to Vegas for his bachelor party with his friends, they went out drinking and gambling, and they dragged him passed-out onto the roof as a prank, and forgot about him. It was too embarrassing not to be the truth. Security wasn't impressed—neither was Doug. But charges weren't pressed for the possible endangerment of throwing a mattress from the roof, they weren't being booted out, but he was made to pay for the ruined mattress. He got it put on their room tab, he was not paying for it himself. They released him with a congratulations on his coming nuptials.

Doug didn't immediately go back to their suite. He needed coffee, Advil, and some greasy food for his hangover before he could deal with those three idiots. So he went to the ground floor buffet, was able to break one of his chips, then went back up to their floor in the elevator. (Just as he stepped out into the hall, the doors to the next elevator closed, transporting Phil, Stu, and Alan with a baby poolside).

Doug let himself in with his key card, but didn't call out his presence. If they were still sleeping (lucky bastards), then the least he could do was a dump a bucket of cold water onto each of them. He paused the on the step to the main lounge area of the villa—the place was trashed. Drinks and party-garbage was everywhere, one of the couches was smouldering, the hot tub was overflowing with bubbles and blow-up dolls, and was that a live chicken? Housekeeping was going to have a long day's work ahead of them, and there goes the security deposit. But he didn't see his friends and assumed they were all comfy in their rooms, but not for long. It gave him room to work. If they wanted to act like children, Doug was just going to have to act the adult—by responding in kind.

Luckily, he spotted his cell phone on the counter edge and pocketed it, and picked up an overturned ice bucket to ice the Champaign. He went to the main washroom, each room had their own, but this was closest. He opened the door and stepped in, then went to turn the corner to the tub (it would fill it the quickest) and nearly tripped over a **tiger**!

Doug made a strangled nose that was a cross between a gasp and shout that didn't know which direction in life it wanted to grow up to be, and dropped the bucket with a clang as it bounced and spun out against the wall. The _tiger_ was startled and they locked eyes, man and beast for what felt like a very long minute but was truly only several seconds—and then the _tiger_ growled and Doug took that as his cue to get the fuck out of dodge. He bolted out of there like a live rabbit sent out into the dog tracks, just remembering to slam the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it heavily, panting, as there was a thud and the thin wood shook.

"Why the fuck is there a tiger in the bathroom?" he asked aloud.

He was still in shock when someone knocked on the door. He left the bathroom door, (wishing he could at least lock it from the outside but that didn't appear to be the case, maybe he should put up a sign or something? _There's a fucking **TIGER**_ _in here. Don't open.)_

"What the fuck is happening?" he muttered, and carefully looked through the peephole, a little skittish that in might be Tony Tiger looking for his lost friend in the bathroom. The coffee, Advil, and breakfast he had managed to procure had helped with his hangover, but he could do without anymore shocks like the one he had walked into in the bathroom. But on the other side of the door was just a beautiful red-haired woman wearing a powder-blue modern cowgirl outfit, caring a pastry box and tray of coffee.

He slowly opened the door. "Hello?" he posed the question.

"Hey, Doug!" she grinned at him very perkily.

"Hey." He grimaced a little at her volume as she easily stepped passed him into the villa.

"The first one up, I see." She set the box and tray down on the counter.

"Yeah." He turned and shut the door, staring at her like she had two heads. She clearly knew him, but who the fuck was she, to put it politely.

"Here," she turned around and handed him one of the coffees. "Help perk you right up. Where are the guys? Does Stu have Tyler?"

"Tyler?" he popped the lid off the coffee and just inhaled the hot dark brew.

"Yeah, my son." Doug nearly sputtered hot coffee all over himself.

"Your son?"

She chuckled at his reaction. "You're probably still pretty buzzed, huh? That's okay. You guys were pretty wild last night. You didn't get to meet him until after the wedding."

"Wedding." He repeated and set down his coffee before he really did spill it all over himself. "Right. Okay. Look..." She leaned back against the smoking chair, slowly dismantling a bear claw, piece by piece, popping each into her mouth as she grinned at him. "Last night was obviously insane. I woke up on the rook and it took me way to long too realize how I actually got there; tossed my mattress off the roof and got dragged in by security—"

"Oh. That was you? Rad!" coming back she'd seen the workers attempting to get the mattress off the statue.

He just nodded. "We obviously drank a lot—a really really lot—and I'm having a little trouble... recalling what happened last night. Clearly you're not having the same problem. Can you... tell me what happened last night?"

She looked at him open-mouthed for a moment as she finished off her bear claw. "Oh, yeah. Uh, no problem." She dusted her icing laced fingertips. "I can't drink 'cause of Tyler, you know, I'm still breastfeeding." She nodded, and took a dreg from one of the coffees to clear her throat. "But, uh, well, let's see... I was working and you guys came in."

"Working?"

"At the strip club." Doug nodded. That made sense. It was his bachelor party. And her outfit. "Me and Stu hit it off pretty well." She gave a huge grin. "You guys are super fun!" he found that pretty funny, consider how Stu was, and with Melissa. "So, he asked me to marry him, said I was way less of a ball-buster than Melissa. How could I say no to something as romantic as that? Good looking, great sense of humour, a doctor—he agreed to be a father to Tyler. I was like: _Jade, you hit it big with this beautiful man!_ So we eloped. You were his best man. It was so cute!"

Doug was silent as she talked. He was seriously finding it hard to figure out which was more shocking, the tiger in the bathroom or that Stu had apparently married a stripper/mother in Vegas. The man was going to have an aneurism when he woke up or remembered—especially when he saw his grandmother's Holocaust ring on her finger.

"So... you and Stu are married."

"Yeah." She sighed happily. "So, we came back here after I got Tyler and snuggled down for the night. I was the first up and went to get everyone some wake-up coffee—and here we are."

"Okay. Okay." He mumbled to himself and really fast-checked the other rooms for his two best friends and soon-to-be brother-in-law, but found each of their rooms empty. If they were here before, they weren’t now, not since he'd come back. He pulled his cell from his pocket in the entry hall and went to call Phil when the suite door opened.

Phil, Stu, and Alan carrying a baby walked in.

"Hurry up, Alan. We gotta find—Doug!!" Stu stopped short upon seeing his friend.

Phil grinned. "Hey, buddy! Where've you been hiding?"

Doug glared at him. "Don't 'buddy' me. You guys left me on the roof—and clearly forgot about it! Some best-men you are."

Phil and Stu cringed and Alan giggled a little.

"Hey, baby! Come to Momma!" Jade cooed, scooping Tyler from the carrier on Alan’s chest. She smooched the baby. "Did daddy take you for a walk?"

The three men were wide-eyed, just now noticing the red-haired woman, the apparent mother of the child that they had discovered in the closet that morning. While Alan was trying to come to terms with becoming a father, mistaking her words as being directed at him.

"Who're you?" Phil questioned in confusion.

"Oh, you guys are as bad as Doug, huh?" she laughed. "It's Jade, dummy."

"Right, Jade." He scratched his head. "This is your baby?"

"Our baby." She corrected and kissed Stu right on the lips. To say Stu was shocked was a complete understatement. "Thanks for taking him when I was out. Father-son bonding time."

Stu was freaking out. "What—What the hell?"

"Don’t you remember, Stu?" Doug said helpfully. "Jade's your wife. You eloped last night."

"What?" Phil gaped.

"What?!" Stu exclaimed.

Alan gasped in delight. "You got married, Stu? That's great!~"

"G-great." He chocked out, and then nearly passed out upon seeing his grandmother's Holocaust ring on this lady's finger, that he had intended to propose to Melissa with. He was so screwed!

Doug got to dump water on someone after all. Stu was having a completely freak out, and Doug went and managed to get a glass of water—which he promptly threw in the dentist's face. Stu sputtered and gasped, but his brain stopped melting. They all found a seat around the sitting area, toeing the debris out of the way and had an adult discussion where more than half the party was still hungover to shit.

The group waited almost awkwardly in valet for the Mercedes, but though disappointed, Jade seemed seriously cool about the whole thing.

"Here's your car, officers." The valet told them.

"What the fuck?" Stu squeaked, because in front of them was not the Benz, but a police cruiser.

"Just be cool," Phil hissed, taking in in stride after a moment of hesitation, "and get in."

Stu locked eyes with Doug, hoping for a sane mind and back-up (no pun intended), but the to-be-wedded man, the most reasonable and responsible of the bunch, shrugged his shoulders. He'd only been awake for a few hours yet, but it felt like he'd already used all his energy on being locked on the roof, finding a tiger in the bathroom, Stu being married to a stripper with a baby. So the cop car, the most illegal of them all (along with the tiger), just slid off his shoulders.

"Let's just get you divorced, huh?" Doug said, and slid into the front passenger seat. He must still be pretty drunk to let this be going on. Stu looked at him open-mouthed, clearly not expecting this response from his best-friend.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Phil soon became excited as he quickly jumped behind the wheel before Doug could change his mind. "Come on, let's go!" he shouted to the others.

Alan and Stu sat at the door-seats in the back and Jade, small as she was, fit easily between the two men, Tyler secured in her lap. She seemed seriously chill about the fact that she was in the back seat of a stolen cop car (but Doug wasn't sure if she actually realized it or not) without a car seat. Phil took some liberties with the authority of driving a cop car, and Doug felt like he did back in college when they did the same stupid shit.

At the Best Little Chapel where Stu had his wedding, they met a man named Eddie who had wed them. He was ecstatic to see them at first, so happy for the couple's marriage, but it saddened him when they asked for an annulment. Afterward, they'd called a cab for Jade and they parted on friendly terms.

The four men got back into the car in their original seating positions, minus Jade, with Stu cringing into his cell as Melissa reamed him out for not answering her calls. Phil and Doug shared a look, the former with a cocky _see? total bitch,_ but the latter with a more sympathetic tone.

"The hospital?" Phil asked as he started the car.

"Seems a good a lead as any." Doug agreed.

Phil put the car into reverse, when an orange street racing car screeched into the parking lot. "What the fuck?" two Chinese gangsters hoped out

"Oh, my God! He's got a gun!" Doug shouted.

"Not shit, he's got a gun!" Phil screamed back, as Eddie came running out of the Chapel. He stepped on the gas, and the car jerked back—running over the gangster's foot with the gun, who shouted in pain and pulled the trigger.

"He shot Eddie!" Alan cried, twisting around in his seat to watch the hectic scene grow distant as Phil didn't let up on the gas, shifting it into drive and skidding out onto the street into traffic—through a glass bus stop.

"Who the hell were those guys?!" Stu demanded. He might have gotten away with getting hitched in Vegas, because let's be honest, even under a sanctioned water boarding he was not revealing that information to Melissa; but he didn't think he could get away with what she might have just over-heard.

"How the fuck should I know?" Phil returned, his heart racing. Doug was pretty stiff next to him.

"Do you think Eddie's dead?" Alan wondered softy.

"Fuck." Phil muttered softly. "I don't know, buddy."

"I'm sure he's fine, Alan." Doug try to reassure, but his voice was a little tight. Tigers in bathrooms were one thing, but guns were on a whole other level to stolen cop cars.

Stu let out a yelp as his cell phone rang in his hands, and he may have flung it away from him, only to have it bounce off Alan's stomach and land back in his hand. Just like the Pager in _Bruce Almighty._ He whimpered. It was Melissa.

"Maybe don't answer it this time?" Phil suggest maliciously.

"Oh ha ha ha ha." Stu laughed. "That was sarcastic by the way!"

"Whatever, man." Phil shook his head. "I say you should have stayed hooked up with Jade. She was totally hot and not a complete bitch like Melissa."

"Stop calling her that." Stu said weakly.

"Leave him alone, Phil." Doug said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think were all just a little stressed—on account of the shootout!"

Phil snorted.

"You're right. That was pretty scary." Stu paused. "Do you think they thought we were cops?"

"I don't know." Doug admitted. "Weren't they shouting about some guy...?"

Siren's blared and lights flashed.

"Wha—" Stu mumbled.

"Shit!" Phil cursed, looking in the rear-view mirror. They were being flagged down by another cop car! "What do I do?"

"W—pull over!" Doug told him.

"Oh, God." Stu lamented. "We're in a stolen cop car. We're going to prison. I can't go to prison, guys. I'm a dentist, I'm not cut out for this kind of stress."

Doug squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't think I'm going to get married tomorrow."

Phil's grip was knuckle-white as he pulled to the curb and turned off the car. "You _are_ getting married tomorrow." He swore. "I'll fix this, Doug."

A tall white cop that could rival Stu’s stature, and a black woman that matched Alan's girth, flanked the stolen cruiser. The two cops were nuts, and pissed, with guns, not a good combination. And it was almost like the same scene at the Chapel lot. There was a lot of screaming, from both parties, but the cops were especially erratic and the Wolfpack simply didn't want to get their balls shot off. Stu and Alan were already contained in the backseat of the squad car, so Phil and Doug were dragged to the car that had flagged them down and tossed into the back, and they were driven back to the police station.

They were all cuffed and made to wait to be processed—and despite their being four of them, the cops, Franklin and Garden, gave them _one_ phone call.

"I have to call Tracy and tell her... Oh, God. She's going to call off the wedding!"

Phil fought the eye roll at how dramatic his best-friend was being. "Doug, I told you I was going to fix this, and that's the truth."

"And how exactly do you intend to do that?" there wasn't much faith in his tone.

"Look, I'm pretty sure it was my idea to put you on the roof. I have no fucking idea about the tiger or the cop car, but... Alright? Just let me do this. You'll be thanking me later, I promise." The day that Phil Wenneck stepped up and was being responsible—did the ice age roll over hell?

Doug's only permission was a defeated wave of his hand, and Phil picked up the receiver of the payphone, slid in the quarter and dialled Tracy's number. Doug was going to a certain section of hell for husbands who lied to their wives on the eve of their wedding. Phil was spinning some story about being compt. for another night at the hotel—and God, there was no reason _why_ Tracy shouldn't buy it and she did. Hello, hell.

"Wennek, Garner, Price, Billings! Room 2." An officer instructed.

Phil quickly talked over the woman on the other end of the phone, before hanging up. And the four men filed down the hall and to the interview room. They were crowded on one side, while the two officers came in and sat the other.

"The good news or the bad news?" Franklin questioned. Well, at least they were a lot calmer this time around.

"The good news?" Doug asked hesitantly, sharing a look with the others.

"A traditionalist, huh? Alright." He nodded. "We found your Mercedes."

"Wow." Phil said. "That is good news."

"Yeah." Franklin wasn't as enthusiastic. "It's over at impound right now." He deadpanned, "We picked it up at 5 a.m. this morning... parked in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard." 

_Awkward._ "The middle, huh? That's weird."

"Yeah, it's weird." Franklin snapped, losing some of his composure. "There was also a note. Says, uh, 'Couldn't find a meter. Here's $4.' The bad news is, we can't get you in front of a judge until Monday." He slathered the icing on with relish.

"Oh, no. Uh, officers, that’s just impossible." Phil quickly shook his head. "We need to be L.A. tomorrow for a wedding."

"You stole a police car." Officer Garden reminded him.

"We didn't steal anything." Stu denied baldly and badly. "Um, we found it."

"Yeah, if anything, we deserve a reward or something." Alan nodded.

"I see assholes like you everyday." Franklin seethed, clearly pissed.

"Everything fucking day." Garden agreed.

"'Lets go to Vegas, we'll get drunk and laid!" he mocked.

She made a bunch of drunken party whoops. "Yeah."

"'Lets steal a cop car, because it'd be really fucking funny."

"Think you can get away with it?" She raised a brow. "Not up in here."

"Not up in here!"

Phil quickly cooled his expression, his mind working over-time. He told Doug he would take care of this, fix this, and that was exactly what he planned on doing. "Oh, uh... sir? If I may, um... I'm assuming that that squad car belongs to one of you. Yeah. Look I ain't no cop. I'm no hero. I'm just a schoolteacher. But if one of my kids went missing on a field trip... that would look really bad on me."

"What are you getting at?" Franklin narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, Phil, what are you getting at?" Doug hissed aside to him.

"No one wants to look bad." Phil reasoned manipulatively. "We gotta get to a wedding and you guys don't need people talking about how some obnoxious tourists borrowed your squad car last night. But the point is, I think we can work out a deal. _Discreetly _ of course, ma'am. What do you say?"

Franklin and Garden shared a look, and then the large black woman tapped something for her partner to see on the clipboard in front of her. Franklin looked and grinned at what he saw. 

"Alright, gentlemen. Let me ask you a question: do, uh, any of you have a heart condition or anything like that?" Franklin asked.

"Uh, no." Phil said slowly. He didn't not like the shit-eating grins that they were giving each other.

xxx

"Well, that went surprisingly well." Phil commented, gingerly shifting his tender junk as he sat on the steps outside the impounds office.

"Well?!" Stu voice was unsurprisingly high, despite the fact that his own treatment had been tame compared to the rest of them. "They tased us! That's police brutality!"

"Compared to how it could of actually gone?" Doug said quietly, leaning against a post of the awning. His arms were crossed over his chest, fingers rubbing at his temple. "We weren't charged, we aren't going to prison. I'd say that's a win."

Stu sputtered. "I'm going to get a drink!" he ground out finally, and stalked off around the corner of the office.

Doug sighed and sunk down on the step next to Phil. "Thank you, Phil." He said quietly.

Phil looked at him in surprise, before he gave a small grin. "Told you you'd be thanking me."

"Don't push it." But he smiled a little in return. "I can't believe we're not in jail right now."

"I'm too beautiful for jail." Phil joked, carding fingers through his hair. "No way was I letting that happen."

Dough chuckled lightly despite himself. "Someone would love to make you their bitch."

"You know it."

They sat in silence for a moment as they waited for the Benz. It really could have ended rather badly, with the four of them being charged, held in county for the weekend until a judge could see them. But Phil, a moulder of young minds, had manipulated the two cops with a humiliation and shame factor that impressed Doug. After being the 'dummies' for a educational demonstration to a touring group of kids, that included each of them getting tased, they just had to sign a release for the car and a non-discloser of the events that had taken place (the main stealing of the cop cruiser, for which none of them could actually remember). Doug didn't think he'd ever been blackout drunk before; and of course, the first time he had to go and do it, was the weekend before his wedding!

"Hey, buddy. You okay? You're pretty quiet over there." Phil looked over to Alan on his other side, sitting in the plastic chair next to the steps.

"Alan?" Doug questioned.

Alan looked over at the two men. "I'm just worried." He admitted quietly. "If something bad happened to the car..."

"I'm sure it's fine," Doug tried to assure. But frankly, the car was the least of his problems right now.

"I'll tell you another thing," Stu said obnoxiously upon his return, slurping his soda. "0-1 odds our car is beat to shit."

"Nice, Stu. Seriously." Phil warned him.

"No, how much do you want to bet it’s fucked beyond recognition?"

"Enough." Doug warned. "The car's going to be fine, and if it's not, we'll get it fixed. Sid won't know." The last thing he needed was his future father-in-law having it out for him because he wrecked the car that he loved more than his own son.

"Well, were about to find out just how true that is." Phil said as they heard the tires on loose gravel. "Here it comes."

They all gathered on their feet, holding their breath as they waited for the Mercedes to come around a stack of crushed cars. There was a collective exhale as it stopped in from of them—undamaged.

"Oh, thank God."

"See, Alan?" Phil clapped said man on the shoulder. "Worried about nothing."

"Let's get the hell out of here, before they change their minds." Doug stated, taking the keys from the man as piled into the car, Doug driving (keeping his promise to be the only one to drive the car), Phil in passenger, and Alan and Stu stuck in the back again.

"Alright, alright. Let's see what we got." Phil muttered. "Clues. Clues." He rifle through the glove compartment.

"Anything?" Doug questioned as he drove.

"I found some shoes." Stu spoke up from the back.

"Shoes?" Phil twisted around in the seat, eyeing the pair of black boots. "Women's shoes?"

Stu checked the inside sole. "Men’s, size 6."

"Who's are those?" Doug wondered.

"No idea."

"Oh..." Alan gasped next. "Is this a... snakeskin?"

"Ew! Alan!" Stu shriek out indignantly as he swung said ‘snakeskin’ in front of his face. "That's a used condom!" he slapped the hand away.

"Get it out of the car." Phil ordered. Alan giggled and snapped it into the front seat like a rubber band, and right into Phil's lap. "Ugh! What the fuck man! Now I got jizz on me!" he quickly flicked it away from himself.

Doug flinched and the car swerved as it streamlined right passed his nose and out the open window. "Fuck!" he quickly pulled off the road. "What the hell, Phil? That almost hit me in the face. I'm driving." The best he got in response was an apologetic shrug. Doug sighed. "We need to get our shit together, not whatever this is."

A banging from the back of the car answered him.

"What's that?" Alan wondered.

The others almost thought it was him making a joke, until it happened again, and the man hadn’t moved.

"Was that... from the trunk?" Stu squeaked.

"There's someone in the trunk!" Doug exclaimed.

They all rushed from the car, Phil grabbed the keys from Doug and opened the trunk. A tiger in the bathroom, a stolen cop car, an impromptu wedding—why not a person in the trunk of the Mercedes, just to round it all out? Why the fuck not.

The man was a blur of pale flesh as he leapt from the hot and confined trunk and latched onto Phil's surprised face, yipping like an Indian as he whacked Phil across the back with a commandeered crowbar from the trunk.

"Get 'im off me!" Phil screamed and Stu and Doug managed to pull (not an Indian, but a small naked Chinaman) from Phil's face. The man was scrappy, dehydrated, probably hungry and half mad from being in the trunk since before at least 5 a.m. when it had been towed. He lashed out, first at Stu, a bigger target, then Doug, before stalking towards a very frightened Alan—before he hightailed it across the deserted street and disappeared into the city.

They all lay, scattered around in the shadow cast by the car, in various states of ache and surprise.

"What the fuck was that?" Phil panted, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "That guy was mean."

"That guy was trapped in the trunk for God knows how long." Doug said.

"That was messed up." Stu agreed. "Who was that?"

"God, Stu. Can't you find anything else to say? Ever?" Phil snipped.

"Fuck you! What else can I say when shit like that keeps happening?" Stu flung his arm out in the direction that the Chinaman had run.

There was a charged silence as the two men glared at each other.

"Do you think that's who the guys who shot Eddie were after?" Alan wondered quite reasonably. The other three blinked at the usually dunce man incredulously. "Because they're all Asian." He clarified. "Probably their son or something. He was so small…"

They ignored those last few bits.

"You may have a point." Doug conceded. Alan grinned.

"Whatever." Phil climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. "It over with now. I don't think we'll see him again."

"You're probably right." Stu agreed, pulling himself to his feet. "So, what do we do now?"

"The plan's the same." Phil remarked. "The hospital." He grimaced lightly as he rubbed at his tender ribs, the yellow hospital band still around his wrist a leading clue they had yet to follow and possibly their only salvation to help piece their black night together again (the only other lead was running through the streets of Vegas right now in nothing but a pair of black socks)."See what the visit last night was about, and hope we currently don't have internal bleeding."

"Heh. Good a plan as any." Doug agreed, pulling the keys out from the trunk lock and sliding back into the drivers seat. The others followed suit, a little worn and covered in desert dust, a bit further undone since the tasers but intact still nonetheless. "Seatbelts, boys and girls."

xxx

Doctor Valch, the same doctor who had seen Phil the previous night, was gracious enough to talk with them— _after_ Phil slipped him a hundred. He looked over his chart. "Looks like you came in with  a minor concussion, some bruised ribs. No big deal—Although none of you could articulate how it happened. Ah, now this is interesting."

"Interesting?" Phil wondered. He was sure that it was never something good when it pertained to a medical chart.

Valch nodded. "Your blood work came in this morning. Wow. They found a large amount of Ruphylin in your system." They all gave him blank stares. "Ruphylin. Roofies. Commonly known as the date-rape drug."

"Date-rape drug?" Phil was open-mouthed. "Are you—are you saying I was raped." He shared horrified looks with the others. "I would know if I was raped, right? I mean..."

"From your file, there was no rape kit administered upon your arrival. So, the chances are, that was not the case. Someone probably slipped something in your drink, and you left before it happened. It’s the reason why you can't seem to remember last night. It should be out of your system by now,"

Alan laughed. "None of us can remember anything, doc. Remember?"

"Uh," Doug wondered, scratching his cheek. "Is it possible that all of us were drugged?"

"If all of you are having the same memory loss, then perhaps. A contaminated pitcher of beer maybe. Like I said," Valch replied, "It'll be out of your system by now."

"This is insane!" Stu muttered, incredulous, pulling at his hair.

"This is Vegas, fellas. It's where the crazy is," it was his parting remark.

They shuffled from the hospital, all stuck in their own thoughts on the fact that they had all been roofied while out celebrating Doug engagement—and they had had no idea the danger that they could have been in. It was scary and insane.

"You okay, Phil?" Doug asked, looking at his friend.

Phil gulped and gave his head a shake. "The last time I felt anything like this, was when Stephanie told me she was pregnant and we had Eli."

"The doctor said nothing happened," he reassured, patting his shoulder.

"I know. I know. But the thought that it could of happened..."

"Let's just get back to the hotel." He murmured.

"Yeah. Yeah."

xxx

"Hey, guys. What about the tiger?" Alan asked as Phil dug around in his pockets for his key card. He'd had it earlier...

"Shit." He muttered. "I forgot about the fucking tiger."

"Here." Doug handed over his key card. "I'm sure it’s fine. Unless while we were gone, it grew thumbs and learned to open doors."

"Yeah, but its a push knob, not a twist." Alan supplied ominously.

They all paused and looked at each other at that.

"Are you kidding me?" Stu scoffed. "It's a tiger." But he sounded nervous.

The lock biped and the light turned green. "Just go in slow and quiet—just to be sure."

Phil lead the way and they all shuffled in behind him. Alan shut the door loudly and they all jumped at the resounding noise in the other wise quiet villa. Before they had all left to head to the Best Little Chapel with Jade to get Stu annulled, Doug had remembered to slip the _do not disturb_ sign on the door handle to ward off the maid service, so the room was still in its discouraging state. The stereo played. They stepped in further as a group, a herd of nervous hogs waiting to get picked off.

There were some indignant squeaks and gasps (you decided who did which), as suddenly, a large black man was bearing down on them from his place at guard to the bathroom door that was the only thing containing what had to be a 300 lbs. animal.

"Who the fuck are you?" Phil demanded.

"No. Who the fuck are you?"

"This is _our_ room," he pointed out. "Who are you?"

"Shh, shh. This is the best part." A voice lisped from down in the conversation pit and they all turned and—

"Holy shit!" Stu blurted.

"Mike Tyson?" Phil gaped.

Then one minute later, they were all singing with a legend, and thirty-seconds after that, Alan was face down on the marble floor, out cold by a sucker punch from Mike Tyson.

"Holy shit, why'd you do that?" Doug cried out.

"Mr. Tyson would like to know why the fuck you stole his tiger." Leonard, Mike Tyson's second, intoned.

"Hold on," Phil protested. "That was completely unnecessary—"

"Explain."

"We—we don't know." Stu admitted in a rush. If he got punched by Mike Tyson, he'd die. Unlike Alan, his skull had a brain in it. "It's true. We were drugged last night and we don't remember a thing. Please don't kill us. Phil's got a family, Doug's about to be married, I just got divorced—Alan's probably already dead!"

"Stu," Phil muttered in embarrassment.

"Why would you steal his tiger and put it in your bathroom?" Leonard interrupted them.

"We tend to do dumb shit when we’re fucked up?" Phil chuckled awkwardly, trying to play it off.

"I don't believe these guys, man." Leonard muttered to Mike Tyson.

"Wait, wait. How did you guys find us?"

"One of you dropped your jacket. Found it in the tigers' cage this morning." Leonard held out a jacket in his hand.

"Hey, that's mine." Doug admitted.

"Yeah, whatever. Here." Leonard tossed it to him. "It was in the tigers' cage."

"Um, thanks."

"We'll be seeing you in forty."

"Uh, excuse me?" Phil murmured.

"The tiger. You brought it here, you bring it back."

Doug floundered. "What? but we're not... equipped for that!" he waved his hand around.

"You got it here, didn't you?" he said rhetorically.

"We _don't remember_." Phil insisted.

"Forty-minutes." Leonard clearly didn't care about the impossible. "Don't make me come back here, man. You won't like it one bit. Get it done." And then the two men were gone.

"What the fuck?" Phil carded his hand through his hair.

"That was Mike Tyson!" Stu gaped after the men.

"No shit that was Mike Tyson."

"How are we supposed to get the tiger out of the bathroom?" Doug asked, kneeling beside Alan, making sure the man was still actually alive.

Alan groaned.

"Fuck." Phil muttered. "If I ever find out who drugged us..."

"Hey, buddy." Doug whispered as Alan rolled onto his back. "Alan, you alright?"

"My face..." he mumbled. "What 'appened?"

"Mike Tyson punched you." Phil told him.

"I don't understand."

"That's okay." Doug said. "I think we're all of the same mind right now." He helped the man sit up.

Alan's eye was already shadowed dark with the bruise, his eye half-lidded. "Ugh. I think I fudged up."

"What are you talking about, Alan?"

"I remembered something from last night."

"Mike Tyson's punch knocked loose a memory?" Phil chuckled.

"It... Last night on the roof, before we went out... I slipped something in our Jägermeister."

"What?"

"You what?" Stu demanded.

"I'm really sorry, guys."

"You drugged us? And all you can say is you're _sorry_?!"

"No, I didn't drug you." Alan shook his head slowly. "I was told it was ecstasy."

"Ecstasy _is_ a drug, Alan!"

Phil took a deep breath. This was not exactly what he was expecting his would-be rapist to be (though he didn't think that had been the man's intention, clearly). "Well, who told you it was ecstasy?"

"The guy I bought it from at the liquor store. When I went to get the Jägermeister."

"Alan, why would you want to give us ecstasy?" Doug asked.

"Why?!" Stu repeated, incredulous. "Who gives a shit why? It's his fault we can't remember!" he went for the still dazed and seated man, and Phil quickly grabbed and held the dentist back.

"Enough!" Phil barked, shoving him away. "This is fucked up enough as it is, we're not going to add to it by going at each others throats."

"Phil's right, Stu." Doug spoke up. He sighed. "Though he shouldn't have drugged us in the first place, it's better that it was him and not some stranger who had targeted us."

Stu scoffed in disgust. "Fine. But don't think I'm happy about it."

"None of us are happy." Phil muttered. He turned from Stu and carded his fingers through his hair. "Now what the fuck are we going to do about the tiger? How the fuck do we get it out of here without anyone else seeing and calling the cops? The last thing we need are Curly and Mo in our faces again."

They were all silent in contemplation, but it was Alan who spoke up. "Can't we just roofie it?"

Phil grinned. "Alan, you're a genius!"

xxx

"This is fucking unfair!" Stu stamped his foot in protest ten minutes later. "Alan should be the one doing this, not me."

"Alan got punched by Mike Tyson." Phil said and that was all that need to be said.

Doug sighed. "It was a fair game, Stu. And you lost. Fair and square. You're doing this. Come on."

"Pull your weight, man." Phil told him.

Stu flipped him the bird and opened the bathroom door, seasoned raw T-bone steak packed full of roofies in hand. He stepped through. A moment later there was a growl, followed by a shriek and Stu was bolting out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He was flushed, breathing heavily, clearly having a heart attack (nearly like Doug had reacted, though more girly).

"Now we just wait." Alan said.

xxx

They managed to get the tiger out of the room and to the car in valet, wrapped in a sheet from one of the beds and wheeled across the lobby in a luggage cart. They stuffed the large animal in the trunk, and then it was off to Mike Tyson's mansion to drop off his tiger. Man, what the hell kind of situation was this? They made it there without incident, though thank fuck the tiger fit in the trunk—because halfway there, going through the tunnel, the tiger woke up. It was pissed; drugged, tangled in a bed sheet, and stuffed into the dark, confining trunk. Doug nearly crashed into a bus the next lane over as the cat bounced the trunk. But they made it to Mike Tyson’s, though definitely not in the required forty-minutes they were given. 

The drive was quiet and subdued on the way back to the hotel—but it was with satisfaction. This concluded his bachelor party in Vegas. They got Stu annulled, returned the tiger, and the police car. The slate was clear. No charges were laid, there would be literally no traces of their night in Vegas—they still couldn't remember a damn thing. 

As soon as they got to the hotel, they were going to pack up their shit and head back to L.A. Doug was getting married tomorrow and there was no way he was going to be late for that.

Doug stopped in a line of traffic at a red-light...

"You know," Stu murmured. "Mike Tyson was pretty nice. I mean, all things considered."

"I thought he was mean." Alan pouted.

"Just be happy he only punched Alan." Doug said.

"That was insane!" Phil agreed, chuckling. "Alan, you took that like a boss!"

"Thanks, Phil." Alan beamed.

Doug rolled his eyes as the light turned green and traffic pulled ahead. He squinted and blinked at the blinding light of high beams pointed directly at them.

"What the—?" he looked out Phil’s window and his eyes widened. "Oh, shit!"

And then the large black SUV was T-boning them, shoving them up onto the sidewalk and crashing into the post of a large neon stripper sign.

"What the fuck?!" Phil exclaimed.

"Is everyone alright?" Doug demanded as the SUV reversed and then pulled nearly parallel to them.

There was a screech of metal overhead, and then the flashing stripper sign was crashing through the soft-top of the car, causing new shouts and exclaims to emit from the four men.

"That almost killed me!" Alan gasped, hand over his heart.

"What the hell is going on?" Doug said.

There was the clap of doors opening and shutting.

"Hey," Stu said, squinting through the windshield, "Isn't that—aren't those they guys who shot Eddie?"

"What?" Phil muttered. "Oh, my God."

"Out, now!" the gangster said.

"What? Fuck that!" Phil scrambled to wind his window up, but the gangster was already reaching through the window, grabbing him and dragging him out. "Hey!"

"Let him go!" Doug demanded.

"What do you think you're doing?" Stu cried.

"Get out of the car!" the gangster barked, flashing the gun tucked in the front of his jeans. "Now!"

"Alright, okay!" Doug relented and climbed out of the same window that Phil had been yanked from. His side was blocked by the post, and Phil's door was jammed.

They were a little less nicer, and impatient now, and Stu barely made it out himself before they were bodily yanking Alan out and shoving him with the others.

"Easy!" Phil straightened himself out. "Who the fuck are you? What do you want?"

A small Chinese man pushed his way to the front of his gangsters, clearly this guy was the boss. "The name's Mr. Chow, and I want my purse back, bitches."

"What? Your purse?"

"Yeah, my purse." And Chow held it up, and it looked exactly like what Alan had been wearing the night before when they left the hotel.

"That's not a purse, it's a satchel!" Alan seethed.

"It's a purse, okay? And you steal from the wrong guy."

"Wait a second, steal?" Doug straightened. "We stole from you?"

Stu said, "Okay, you know what? We don't remember anything that happened last night so help us out a little here."

The first henchman, the guy who had started out with a bat, then exchanged it for a gun at the Chapel, spoke: "Well, apparently you guys met at a craps table last night. Alan was on a heater, and he played your hot streak. He ended up winding just under 80 grand."

Phil whistled. "No shit. 80 grand, that’s nice."

Doug sucked in a sharp breath next to him. That was the amount of chips that he'd found in his pockets when he'd woken up on the roof. Shit. Should he say something? But he didn't have them on him. When he got back to the room, he'd stowed them away in his suitcase—and then with the tiger, the divorce, the cop car, the shootout, being arrested and tased—it kind of seemed like small beans and unimportant. But now...

"He put the chips in his purse and then you guys took off with it."

"That doesn't sound like us." Stu grimaced though, because it seemed that was all they had done last night. His tooth, a cop car, a baby, a tiger. What was 80 grand?

"Mine had 80,000 inside." Chow said. "And this one? Nothing." He threw it on the road and promptly stomped it with his short-heeled boot.

"Hey, there are Skittles in there!" Alan protested angrily. The gangster socked him in the gut. Alan whimpered, stumbling back, arms around his middle. "Ow! Oh, not again."

Chow laughed at him. "Its funny 'cause he's fat." He pointed.

"Don't let the beard fool you." Stu told them. "He's a child. Now look," Stu started reasonably, "This was obviously a very simple misunderstanding. Alan picked up the wrong purse, it's no big deal."

"'Kay. If it's 'no big deal,' why, when I come after you guys Phil starts screaming like crazy and throw me in trunk?"

"What, I did that?" Phil pointed at himself in surprise. He remembered that naked guy from the trunk, and Holy shit was that this guy? Well, his words bit him in balls in a bad way, didn't they?

The gangster nodded, the only one other than Chow that seemed to talk. "Yeah, you said he was your Lucky Charm, and you wanted to take him home with you."

Phil and Stu couldn't help but laugh at that. "Lucky Charm." Stu sputtered.

"Oh, it's funny." Phil agreed, but they quickly quieted down at the Chinese's glare.

"If you want to see your friend again, you get me my 80 g." Chow gave them the grave ultimatum.

"What?" Stu asked.

"Our friend?" Phil repeated.

"What are you talking about?" Doug stepped in. "What friend?"

Chow gave him a shark-grin, all teeth. "This friend." He snapped his fingers and they all looked as the back passenger window wound down to reveal a bound man in the backseat with a sack over his head, clearly struggling.

"Holy shit!' Phil shouted. "You kidnapped someone?"

"Oh, my God!" Stu shrieked.

"Why would you do that?" Doug gasped. "Who is that?"

"You want him still alive, balls with cock?" Chow asked.

"What?"

"Read my beautiful lips, gay boys. I want my money!"

"We don't have your money!" Stu protested.

"Yes, you do." The gangster said. "In the exact same purse as this one. You want to see your friend alive? Get the money."

"Bring my money to Big Rock in Mojave Desert at dawn." Chow declared, and then hoped into his SUV, the other gangsters followed suit.

"Wait!" Phil shouted. "What the fuck?!"

""Toodle-oo, motherfucker." Chow wiggled his fingers in farewell through the open window and the SUV sped away, leaving behind four very anxious and confused men.

"Who was that guy?" Stu asked, finally.

"You mean Chow, or the guy he fucking kidnapped?" Phil replied sarcastically.

"Ha ha ha, very amusing." Stu laughed sarcastically. "Seriously. What the fuck are we going to do? Doug?"

Doug was quiet for a moment as the all looked to him. Finally, he straightened. "We need to go to the police."

"What? Fuck that," Phil scoffed.

"What do you mean? Of course we're going to the police." Doug said. "The tiger was one thing, Phil. This is kidnapping! We're way in over our heads. We can't deal with this. This is a man's life we're talking about."

"We don't even know that guy!" he waved his hand. "It's probably just one of his gangsters pretending to be kidnapped."

"You don't know that. Maybe it was someone that we met last night, and have no memory of it."

"Like Chow, right?" he rolled his eyes. "That's very convenient."

Doug blinked at his best-friend. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I don't remember finding any money in the room."

"Because you were looking for it?" Stu jumped in sarcastically.

"When I woke up on the roof, I found 80 grand worth of poker chips in my pocket." Doug told them.

The others looked at him open-mouthed.

"What the fuck, Doug?" Phil exclaimed. "Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

"To be honest? I was pretty pissed at you guys for dragging me onto the roof and then _forgetting_ about me —and then I found a tiger in the bathroom, and Stu's Vegas-wife was knocking on the door. You guys came back with a baby. There was a tiger in the bathroom." (it bore repeating) "And things got even more out of hand from there. But that shootout at the Chapel was one thing not to go to the police about, but someone got kidnapped by clearly a criminal. There is no more taking care of this ourselves 'cause we don't want to get into trouble shtick, Phil."

Phil groaned and paced away from him, carding his fingers through his hair roughly. "Fuck." He knew Doug was right, he just didn't want him to be. "Damn it." He turned back to them. "We were lucky to get out of that police station in the first place. How do you think those two crazies are going to react when we come crawling back—and spin them this whole thing?"

Doug sighed. "We don't have any other choice. We'll just tell them what we know, and then it will be in their hands. They are the police, after all."

"And not crawling," Stu added helpfully, "Limping, maybe. But not crawling."

"Keep telling yourself that, Stewart." Alan whispered. He bent and picked up the stomped satchel with sadness and peered inside it. "It's like a Skittles ‘Red Wedding‘."

xxx

"Aw, no. What choo come back here for?" Garden harrumphed at the sight of the four of them.

"Whatever it is... Not up in here!" Franklin growled.

xxx

In a lone stretch of desert, the break of dawn. A pristine black SUV faced a beaten silver Mercedes...

"How the fuck did we end up here?" Doug muttered, from behind the wheel.

"I told you they were crazy." Phil agreed, next to him.

"Just do something already!" Stu exclaimed from the back.

"Like what? We're here, they're here. What's there to do?"

"Anything! This pressure is too much."

"Flash your lights." Alan inserted helpfully.

"This isn't a movie, Alan." Doug shook his head.

Alan gave him a serious look. "Think back on the last day..."

"I'm supposed to be getting married today." Doug whimpered quietly to himself.

"And you will." Phil patted his shoulder. "So let's move this along. Flash the headlights."

Doug sighed and did it, and a moment later the SUV's lights flashed in return. "What the fuck is happening?" he muttered.

"I can't believe that actually worked." Stu was open-mouthed.

"Believe it," Alan grinned. "This is so exciting."

"Alan." Doug admonished.

"Come on." Phil said. "The cops said that we have make the deal before they can make an arrest, so the money has to exchange hands."

The occupants of both vehicles exited and approached center-ground, a tense distance stretched between both parties as they faced off. The Wolfpack with ransom money in-hand.

"Alright." Phil opened negotiations. "We got the money. 80g, chips."

"Throw it over." Chow told them. "Then I give you fuck buddy."

Stu's grip tightened on the bag. The cops had given them specific instructions on how they were going to respond during the exchange, the conditions that had to be met before they would be able to make a proper arrest. They made him memorize a script, for each of them to follow. He took a shaky breath and called across in a stammer, "I'm sorry. First of all, good morning. Mr. Chow, it is a pleasure." Chow cocked his head. "And we would very much appreciate any opportunity to see... our friend, before we give you the money, just to verify that he's okay. If-if that's cool?"

"Of course, Stu, that is cool." Chow clapped his hands and a moment later, the captive was pulled from the back of the SUV by one of his gangsters.

"O-okay. Um..." Stu nodded, gasping lightly. Sweat dripped down his temple, one of his boxes were checked. God, he wondered how he drew the short straw in this, why they gave him all the lines in the play? He bragged about being a dentist, but being a dentist wasn’t being an actor. This was more suited to Phil or Doug.

Phil clapped Stu on the shoulder. "Alright."

"See? He fine. Now give me money... or I shoot him, and I shoot all you motherfuckers." Chow waved his fingers and his most talkative gangster flashed the gun tucked into his belt. "And then we take it. Your choice bitches."

"Give him the money, Stu." Phil hissed when the dentist seemed to have sudden stage fright.

"O-okay." The spectacled man stammered, very different from the collected and firm man who delivered the whole speech beforehand. He tossed the satchel the distance between them—or attempted to. The bag didn't quite make it to the waiting arms of the gangster and slapped onto the ground, tumbling in the dust and then spilling the chips.

"Stu!" Phil cursed through gritted teeth, and the dentist grimaced.

"I told you, you should have done it." Stu hissed in return.

"It's a little late for that now."

"Easy." Doug hissed and they quieted.

"Seriously?" Chow muttered and raised an unimpressed brow across the distance. "Ngh." He made a gesture at the mess and one of the gangsters quickly got on his knees and started to pick up the coins from the sand.

"It's all here, boss." The gangster said eventually, standing up with the dusty bag in his hand.

"Okay. At least you got that right." Chow said. "Alright. Let him go." He snapped his fingers. The gangster holding the bound and hooded man started to drag him forward across the distance between them.

The Wolfpack was tense as the gangster stopped in front of them. He jerked the sack from the man’s head. They blinked at the black man with a beanie on his head. The gangster headed back to his boss.

"Who the fuck are you?" Phil demanded.

"Alan, what the hell you drag me into?" the stranger said.

The other three men turned to the pair, instantly alert.

"Alan, do you know this man?" Doug asked.

"What? Of course he knows me!"

"Hum." Alan squinted at the man.

"Alan." Doug prompted.

"Oh!" Alan lit up suddenly. "I know you! Yeah. You're the guy that sold me the bad drugs. How you doing?"

"The bad drugs?" the guy repeated. "I ain't sell you no bad drugs."

"It was you?!" Phil shouted and his face darkened with anger. He grabbed him by the front of the shirt. "You sold us Roofies! Do you know how dangerous that is? What could of happened to us?"

"Hey. Easy, man!" he protested at the rough handling. "Roofies?" he looked at the man in confusion. "I was the man who was suddenly kidnapped off the street last night by Chinese Chucky over there! What happened to you that was so bad, punk?"

"Bye-bye, gay boys!" Chow waved and they watched as he and his gangsters got back into the SUV, and started to drive away.

"What the fuck?" Phil shoved the kidnapped man away, turning to watch the dust cloud.

"Where are the cops?" Doug said.

"Why the hell didn't they arrest him?" Stu demanded.

"Cops?" the stranger repeat. "Y’all with the cops? You snitched or something‘? Oh, hell no. I ain't going to jail, not after being with the munchkin from hell!" he turned and tried to flee, but where was there to go? They were in the middle of the desert.

"Should… should we stop him?"

"Fuck that!" Phil muttered, carding his fingers through his sweaty and dusty hair in frustration. "Screw him and screw the cops! I told you we shouldn't have gone to them."

"Ooh!" Alan gasped. "That's so cool, just like in the movies! I told you guys, it's like live action!"

"Alan, what are—?" Doug started and Alan pointed excitedly in the direction that the SUV had disappeared.

The other three turned and watched as through the faded dust cloud, new ones sprung up as police cruisers roared over the dunes, lights flashing and swarmed around the SUV.

"Holy shit, is that a helicopter?" Stu gaped, blinking through his smudged glasses at the sky.

"Huh. Well, I guess they're not as dumb as they look." Phil muttered.

"No, we're not. Thank you very much." Franklin agreed and now they all spun back in the direction that the drug dealer had fled, to find Franklin and Garden dragging the protesting man along between them.

"Come on now!" he protested.

"Shut it!" Garner growled and the man gave a brief squeak and then quieted.

"Here's how this is going to work." Franklin told them. "You're going to give a full account of this weekends events that lead up to this very moment in a signed statement. And then you're going to leave Vegas for good. Somewhere down the line, you're probably going to get a legal letter in the mail requesting your presence in court on the matter—we don't want to see you otherwise. Is that understood?"

"Gladly!" Stu agreed eagerly.

"Thank you, officers." Doug nodded, relieved.

"Perfectly," Phil said.

"Aw!" Alan pouted. "But Vegas is fun."

"It’s not fun up in here for you, fat Jesus!" Franklin disagreed.

Xxx

...

"God, we're never going to make it!" Doug bemoaned. Giving their statements at the police station had taken longer than expected, and now they were paying the price on their return drive from Vegas to L.A.

"We're fine," Phil brushed his friend's worry aside. "We've got plenty of time!"

"Is that why I'm getting dressed on the side of the road?!" Doug snapped, hopping from one foot onto the other on the shoulder of the freeway into his wedding suit pants.

"Wow." Phil shook his head. "This trip to Vegas has really made a Drama Queen out of you, my friend."

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Let's go!" Stu rushed them.

They all scrambled to get inside the vehicle, all dressed haphazardly.

"All those poker chips you got burning a hole in your pocket next to your dick will get you some brownie points on your honeymoon, I'm sure." Phil put the pedal to the metal. Dire circumstances made Doug relinquish driving responsibilities to the man. God help them.

"Let's just agree that this weekend never happened." Doug said.

"Buddy, I don't think what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas applies to us."

"Especially herpes!" Alan called over the rushing wind, hard of hearing in the backseat, the soft-top down. "That's what papa always says. That stuff stays with you."

Phil blinked at Doug. "It's true, he does say that." Doug sighed. "God."

xxx

"Told you, with time to spare." Phil said on the steps of the alter, standing in a row with Stu and Alan a step each below on his left, and the groom up and center at his right.

"Shut up, I will deal with you later." Doug muttered to him as the rest of the Maids of Honour settled on the steps across from the Best Men, and then the Wedding March started, and his bride started down the isle, escorted by Sid. "Right now, I just want to get married to the woman of my dreams."

Phil clapped him on the back with a grin. "She's beautiful, man."

"Thank you. Now shut up,"

Tracy gave him a relieved smile as she paused at the bottom of the alter, looking up at her groom, who definitely had a golden tan she could be envious off.

"Tracy, you look... gorgeous, sweetheart." Doug took her offered hand from her father, kissing her knuckles. "Thank you, sir." And guided her up the step with the Minister.

She took in the state of each of his Best Men with a sweeping glance and cocked a brow at him. "Are you ever going to tell? Do I even want to know?" but she didn't sound overly mad, just mildly amused.

"If I ever remember..." he promised her, squeezing her hand.

"I'll hold you to that, mister."

"We are gathered here today," the Minister started.

It would be great if he could forget the two-days after as much as he remembered the night before. But he knew, when that summons came in the mail like Franklin said, there would be no way that he couldn't tell Tracy.

"The truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."

But little did the newly minted husband know yet of the digital camera wedged in the backseat of a certain beat-up silver Mercedes Benz.

[end]

**The ... Hangover**

 

**Author's Note:**

> So? What did you all think of my interpretation of what might of happened if Doug had made it off the rood by himself and reunited with the Wolfpack? I would seriously love it if you reviewed, please, please, please? :D I am as deprived here as Chow was locked in that trunk, lol. J


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